“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I murmur, enraptured by him. My heart clogs in my throat when he lowers himself before me.
“What are you doing?” I breathe, watching his long fingers reach out and grab my ankle. His touch feels electric, my leg twitching from the feel of his skin slowly grazing my skin. I hold my breath, my heart speeding as his hand disappears beneath the silk and travels farther up.
“Placing the crown on my queen,” he croons.
“What do you mean?” I mumble distractedly, shivering from the electric currents traveling up my leg.
“A crown symbolizes power. That’s what this knife is for you.”
I’m trembling, and liquid heat is pooling low in my stomach. Something I’m still getting used to feeling again whenever Zade is brave enough to touch me.
He’s grown more daring the past month, brushing up against me any chance he gets, and taking advantage of any excuse to touch me, his fingers always lingering longer than necessary. At night, when I’m lost in a nightmare, I let him hold me for a little while, feeling safer with him than I do in my own skin.
Sometimes in those moments, he’ll place soft kisses along my jaw, never pushing it too far, but familiarizing me with the feel of his affection. More and more, I crave it and seek it out. And lately, I’ve begun to feel like it’s not enough. Like I need more.
Sensing my growing arousal, he turns his head and places a soft kiss on my knee, peeking up at me through thick, black lashes. My teeth trap my bottom lip between them, and his eyes blaze in return.
Dropping his burning stare, he brushes the material of my dress to the side, both legs now bared. I decided to forgo panties with this dress, the silk too thin to conceal panty lines. If he lifted the material another inch, he’d be able to see between my thighs.
His nostrils flare, and I feel my face grow hot, flushing hotter when he leans in closer.
I can smell you.
Something he said to me so long ago, when he told me to run and hide in Parsons Manor, promising a punishment if he found me.
I have a feeling he can smell me now, and just how much my body weeps for him.
“Lift your leg, baby,” he orders roughly, voice hoarse with desire. I listen, watching him loop the lacy strap around my foot and raise it to my upper thigh, his knuckles coming dangerously close to my center.
“Do you remember how to use this?” he asks, flipping the blade in his deft fingers. For the life of me, I can’t fathom why that was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen him do.
“Uh-huh,” I squeak. It takes effort to drag my eyes away from the twirling blade to meet his gaze. There’s a hint of challenge swirling in his mismatched pools, and I feel myself rising to meet it. “Do you know how to use it?”
I’ll never know why I instigate him, even when wariness lingers behind the cloud of lust.
The smirk that curls his lips is wicked, causing my body to flush. I’m overheating, and he’s hardly touched me.
I’m not sure what he intends to do, but that look on his face tells me it’s going to be something nefarious.
“You can’t cut me with it,” I say seriously. For a moment, I see a flash of rage in his eyes, gone before the fire can spread. And I know he knows the reasoning behind my request. There have been several nights where I confessed the things that had been done to me in that house, including Xavier’s kink with slicing me open while he raped me.
For a moment, I panic, fearing he’ll stop at the reminder that other men have used my body. Tensing, I wait for the disgust. I wouldn’t blame him if he was repulsed by me, but it’d tear my heart out anyway.
Instead, he flips the blade until he’s gripping the sharp edge in his hand. Then he slides the handle against my thigh, gentle and teasing. The fear begins to dissipate, relief soaking my bones. But even that quickly fades when the handle caresses my pussy, just a whisper of a touch.
Now, I feel nothing but anticipation and that lingering wariness.
Turbulence rocks the plane again, a physical representation of how my heart feels.
“Did you know that reclaiming something that was stolen from you can help with trauma?” he asks.
“Yes,” I murmur.
“And if something hurt you before, giving it a new meaning can help.”
His eyes lift, focusing on me intently.
“Do you want me to show you a new meaning to this knife?”
I hesitate but then nod my head. A different kind of fear is seizing my body—the kind that I’ve always been attracted to. And I’ve missed it so much.